


let me confess that we two must be twain

by iwritetrash



Series: shakespearean sonnets [5]
Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Angst, Edward Drummond Lives, M/M, kind of mutual but also kind of not?, soft break up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 15:05:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16389974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwritetrash/pseuds/iwritetrash
Summary: let me confess that we two must be twain,although our undivided loves are one.so shall those blots that do with me remainwithout thy help by me be borne alone.~ sonnet xxxvi, william shakespeare





	let me confess that we two must be twain

**Author's Note:**

> did someone say historical era break up au? no? well tough, here it is.
> 
> im sorry for this, im in A Mood™ right now and this is the unfortunate consequence of that. 
> 
> enjoy, i guess?

Edward doesn’t spend the night. Not often, anyway. Not unless he has a viable reason. With a house of his own only a short walk away and a wife and child waiting for him, viable reasons are hard to come by.

Still, he seizes each opportunity when it comes to pass.

Alfred’s bed feels like a safe haven amidst the constant bustle of London and the marriage in which he finds himself rather trapped and the constant threat of political upheaval whirring in his brain. When he is lying naked with Alfred between white sheets, heads resting on soft pillows, he feels as though he is floating on a cloud, like he has found a small patch of heaven brought down to earth.

He knows how Alfred would react to him saying that.

He’d frown, pull back, shake his head, mutter some excuse about fetching a drink. Edward would find him later in his study, thumbing through his bible, eyes skimming over pages he must have long since memorised. For a few moments he is unreachable, until Edward’s hands press the bible shut, place it on Alfred’s desk, and stroke Alfred’s cheek until he’s back in the room with him, back in bed with him. 

These days, Edward feels like he only lives for those nights with Alfred. Everything else, every other part of his life, is just a filler, something he must endure before he sees Alfred again, before he feels their skin brushing together, before he can lie beside Alfred and listen to his breathing even out as he falls asleep. Those nights are the only reason he’s alive.

It’s on one of these nights that he feels the shift. The change in Alfred.

He can’t tell quite what it is, maybe something in Alfred’s eyes, some hint of guilt, or fear, when he opens the door, that tells Edward this will be the last time.

He’d known this was coming, from the start, he had known one day that the guilt of it all would eat Alfred alive. And Alfred has so much life left to live. He has a whole harem of ladies who would positively swoon if he so much as smiled in their direction, a respected place at the Queen’s side, potential for political ascent, and Edward… well, he has somewhat plateaued.

Since he met Alfred, his career has seemed increasingly worthless to him, to the point where he hardly knows if it is worth doing, and he loathes spending time at home with a wife who wheedles and demands attention and a toddler who is no better. He’s stuck, come to a standstill and unable to change. He knows, however, that Alfred is under no obligation to fall victim to the same fate.

The best thing Edward can do for him is ease the parting blow.

That is why Edward speaks first. Or perhaps it is to preserve his own pride. Either way, he speaks first.

“I think perhaps the time has come for us to part, my dear.” His words echo out into the darkness of the room, the candles around them long-since having burned out. He feels Alfred’s body tense against him, and then soften as though out of relief.

“If that is what you want.” It’s the kind of thing he says to the Queen when she’s being stubborn. Not patronising, but not altogether in agreement.

_It isn’t_ , Edward itches to reply. He can’t bear to think of this… arrangement between them ending, but he finds himself somewhat without a choice. “I think it would be wise. You could soar much higher without me shackling you.”

Alfred rolls over so they’re facing each other, and drapes his arm over Edward’s waist instinctively. It feels far too intimate for the conversation they’re having.

“You are hardly a shackle, Edward.”

Edward sighs, smiles a little, and brings a hand to Alfred’s face. “We both know that isn’t true.”

Alfred rolls his lip between his teeth, and Edward wishes a candle was lit so that he might see Alfred’s face properly, instead of the gloomy features he can make out from the light of a streetlamp outside Alfred’s bedroom window.

“I do not want you to think I do not care for you. Our time together is something I will treasure for the rest of my life." 

Edward presses his eyes shut in the hopes that it might stop him from crying. “But this is for the best. I understand, Alfred.”

“Edward?” 

He hums by way of response. He’s not sure he trusts his voice.

“I will miss you.”

Edward summons all of his willpower to hold himself together. “And I will miss you. Florence has been eager to leave London for a while. I think this may be an opportune time.”  
  
He doesn’t miss Alfred’s physical reaction to Edward mentioning his wife. “Yes, I suppose it would be best if we no longer saw each other.” 

“It may save us both from embarrassment.” Edward tries to memorise the feeling of Alfred, wrapped up in his arms for the last time.

“I love you.” Alfred’s words ring out like gunshots in the too-quiet room. Each shot finds its mark, tearing through Edward’s heart and ripping it open.

Edward can’t bear to say it back. Not like this. He settles for pressing a lingering kiss to Alfred’s forehead, half-certain he might lose all composure if he were to reply. 

“Would you stay here tonight?” Alfred whispers, head buried in Edward’s neck, lips brushing up against his collarbone as he speaks. “Just until morning?”

Edward’s chest feels so tight he can hardly breathe. “Of course.” He whispers, hand stroking up the length of Alfred’s spine, along soft skin he might never feel again. “Just until morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> again, im sorry for this shitstorm born directly out of my Mood™, i promise i'll be back with a new chapter of coming home at some point and that might actually have a happy ending! 
> 
> thank you so so so much for reading, let me know what you thought! <3


End file.
